The Almost Recruitment of Clarisse la Rue
by KentuckyChicken
Summary: Once upon a time, Zoë Nightshade asked Clarisse to join the Hunt. Here be the story of why she was still around to stuff Percy's head into the toilet by the time of his arrival.


**The (Almost) Recruitment of Clarisse la Rue  
><strong>_by KentuckyChicken_

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><p>Clarisse had always been an early-riser. Her mom's work as a farmer and then as an employee to a big company required the woman to get up at strange times in the morning if she wanted to get her paperwork done. Old habits die hard, and very often she could be found stalking around campground up to fifteen minutes before sunrise looking for fellow morning-birds to pick fights with.<p>

All this aside, though, Clarisse also needed her sleep very much. If she didn't, she got very cranky, and if she got cranky, properties tended to be broken. Taken today, for example: going to bed at eleven, rolling back and forth and stewing about their forty-sixth loss to the Hunters of Artemis at capture the flag, gods damn them all, stupid immortal girls who would never get through their puberty, and then waking up at five forty-nine in the morning. This turned Clarisse into something that resembled a very dangerous, very bad-tempered hellhound whose tail had just been treaded on.

The brown-haired girl stalked through the camp, the cool morning air doing little to calm her fraying nerves. How could they have _lost_? Clarisse had that stupid Zoë Nightshade right where she wanted her and she was holding her own pretty well – fine, not _that_ well, but it would have been another five minutes before Clarisse dropped – and that sneaky wimp of a girl managed to sneak behind her and got the flag.

And where was Annabeth Chase or any of her worthless campmates when it mattered? They were dillydallying somewhere in the woods because they had stumbled on the traps that they should have known to avoid, shame on them. The entire Athena cabin had been divided and taken down the quickest, due to them being the biggest brains in the room. Camp. Whatever. Even Annabeth with her invisible cap hadn't been able to escape. And it had gone downhill from there.

"Those _stupid __**morons**_!" Clarisse seethed, kicking aside a large rock. She wasn't sure she was referring to her teammates from the capture the flag game from yesterday or to the Hunters. Right then she didn't give a damn.

The rock bounced off a discarded quiver, startling Clarisse out of her rage for a moment. In her near-trance, she had found her way to the archery field. The sun was just starting to rise, but breakfast wouldn't be for another hour or two. People would be up in another half-hour. Until then, she had the range for herself.

Clarisse glared at the quiver mutinously. Usually she hated bows – she hated them with a passion. Only cowards would use them, she reasoned. And they had the unfortunate side effect of reminding her of the sour loss she had had with the Hunters.

A string of curses that would make Mr. D raise an eyebrow poured from Clarisse's mouth, and she grabbed a javelin – lying conveniently nearby – and threw it at the targets.

It was too far away to hit, of course, but it landed ten steps from one of them. Clarisse swore bitterly and looked around for something else to throw. There were only rocks, however. No more javelin. She swore again.

"It was a good throw," a voice commented suddenly.

Clarisse whirled, eyes flashing, and found herself a short distance away from Zoë Nightshade. The Hunter had her hair plated in a simple single braid and wore the traditional silver jacket of her…organization and the silver circlet that proved her position as the lieutenant of Artemis, but she had no weapon on her person. And she was alone.

That was kind of strange, and it set Clarisse on edge. Usually Zoë was followed by one or two of her Hunters, or she preferred to spend her time with them. She treated the other campers like something dirty stuck to the bottom of her shoes most of the time, but that was just how most Hunters were. They didn't just _dislike_ boys, some of them. They _hated_ them.

Cowards. They couldn't face their fears, so they made a club and banded together.

"What do you want?" Clarisse asked roughly.

Zoë tilted her head, studying the daughter of Ares with piercing black eyes. Clarisse would never admit it, but of all the times she and Zoë had clashed, she had been unnerved by those eyes. They were too old, knew too much, and when people tried to pick Clarisse apart she became defensive – and, as a direct succession, violent.

Clarisse opened her mouth to say something that would probably ignite a big fight, which was just what she needed, but Zoë beat her to it. "You have very good aim," she commented. "The targets are very far away, yet thee managed to come so close to hitting it and with a javelin no less."

The camper's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Whatever," Clarisse grunted finally. There was a vague uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, and Clarisse had been alive for too long to ignore it. She glanced at the javelin, and she had to admit to herself that _she_ was impressed. It was amazing what people could do when they were angry.

An awkward silence passed as Clarisse glared sullenly at the lightening sky while Zoë just stood there, alternating between studying the girls and looking elsewhere, appearing deep in thought.

Eventually, Clarisse turned to her. "Whatever you want with me, spit it out," she snarled. "I'm not in the mood for the waiting game." The Hunter's presence irked her. Clarisse was used to winning or coming as close to winning as possible, and the curb-stomp yesterday didn't exactly make her feel any more loving toward the immortal Girl Scouts.

Zoë did not answer immediately. She gave Clarisse one last thoughtful look, then said, "I want to invite thee to join the Hunt."

Clarisse's natural reaction was to gag. Then she burst out laughing, howling at the sky and then doubling over. When she was done, she straightened and wiped her eyes. "Ah, that was funny," she grinned mockingly at the Hunter. The expression turned feral. "Careful what you say, Missy. You might just start an epic beat-down one of these days."

Zoë inclined her head, completely unruffled by Clarisse's thinly veiled threat. She had probably received too many of them over the years to be affected by them anymore, the Ares girl figured. "Nonetheless, I would like thee to think about the offer," she said. "You have the qualities necessary to survive, Clarisse la Rue. You are a true warrior, quick on your feet, and most of all you know what you are doing. Do you not want to travel? Do you not want to leave this place behind and visit other lands, other places, to test thine strength against other opponents?" She swept her arm in the general direction of the camp. "I know how it feels to be walled in, believe me. But if you come with us, thee will be able to do all those things – and more. Camp Half-Blood is an excellent place to train demigods, but it is just that: a training ground. _We_ hunt the real monsters."

Clarisse was speechless. Part of her was angry – this thousand-year-old hag in a teenager's body was bad talking her home and her siblings. The other part, however, the small but strong part of logical reasoning that had kept Clarisse alive for so long, took in the words and turned them over. Clarisse knew that she was right. All they ever did at camp was train. But train for what? The summer-only brats got some danger to look forward to, but year-rounders like Clarisse never got anything exciting. Every once in awhile, there was a quest, but it wasn't as though somebody from Ares cabin was going to be picked for it.

The Hunters, on the other hand, were always moving from one place or another. Clarisse had to grudgingly admit that there was strength in their number, and they were immortal and immune to normal diseases to boot. They were a family. Sisters. And they fight things. Kill things. The dream of any Ares kid.

So, really, why not?

Zoë must have sensed Clarisse's flagging defiance, because she pushed on. "Training is good," she said, and her tone was downright persuading now. "But there is also learning as thee goes, Clarisse. We can provide thee with that. Camp Half-Blood cannot. You have talent, and it is being wasted here. You cannot advance if there is no real experience, nothing for thee to fight." She paused, then continued in a gentler tone. "And all that is required of thee is to forfeit the company of men."

That broke Clarisse out of the clutter of possibilities and heavenly scenarios filling her head. She raised an eyebrow. "In other words, impair my own freedom," she said flatly. "So I can have all this cool stuff…for the price of never looking at another boy again?"

"It will be worth it," Zoë replied. "We do not need them to survive, Clarisse. They always disappoint those who love them. Trust me; I know what I am referring to. The boy who hangs around you last night in the game–"

"Chris," Clarisse said, the memory of a grinning, mischievous face and bright blue eyes flashing through her mind. He was a great big idiot, but Clarisse had to admit he knew what he was doing with that sword.

"Yes, Chris. He gets in your way, does he not?"

Granted, he tripped over his own feet at one point and almost fell, but he managed to latch himself around another Hunter's legs and brought her down with him. "He's good enough," Clarisse said, and she was surprised there was a defensive note in her voice.

It was Zoë's turn to raise an eyebrow. "He almost caught one of thine team on his own blade." She sounded just the littlest bit derisive. "And he tripped thee."

Well, that _had_ been kind of disastrous, but…"All n00bs are losers," Clarisse said flippantly, once again shocked that she was defending a near-total stranger against someone who could very well hold the ticket to her eternal freedom and eternal monster-fighting field trip. "He'll get better."

Zoë shook her head, seemingly frustrated. "You do not understand. He has darkness in his heart; one day he will let thee down, and he will do so badly. Do you not see how his eyes darken at the mere mention of his father's name? He is foolishly angry at things that cannot be, and he holds great grudges. Like with any mortal who challenged the gods, he will pay for it. If you remain there, you will go down with him. Do you want that?"

"Whoa there, girl," Clarisse protested. "Since when did you get a degree in Demigod Psychology? How can you tell all that?"

"Experience," the Hunter replied coolly. "A lot of experience."

"So you're saying that that weirdo, awkward Hermes kid is gonna be a serial murderer some day?"

"I rather doubt that, but he _will_ betray thee."

Clarisse gave her a very flat look. She was suddenly reminded of why she didn't like the Hunters. They didn't like boys, and they thought of all conceivable reasons to keep hating them. It was like one of those anti-Justin Bieber clubs at her old school, except Zoë wholeheartedly believed what she was saying.

And the worst part? Zoë probably didn't know Chris at all. Clarisse remembered the quirky moron who had somehow managed to defend her right flank with a professional clumsiness the day before. She couldn't associate that image with a mass murderer or a traitor. He was…kind of nice, to be truthful. Clarisse immediately made a silent prayer to her father to blast her senseless if she ever said that in front of Chris. She had a feeling he heartily agreed.

"You can't say that about Chris," Clarisse said finally, her voice growing short and clipped with annoyance. "You don't know him."

"They are all the same," Zoë answered bitterly. "They will always be the same. My sisters, those who still live and those who have passed on, are proofs of that. Heroes do not change, Clarisse. All they care about is to gather fame and become memorable. They give nothing to those who helped them. They are selfish, weak, and unworthy of our time."

Clarisse dealt okay with the 'selfish' part. However, when it came to 'weak' and then to 'unworthy', she had had it.

"Well, that's life," she said contemptuosly. "Not everybody's a nice person. Not just boys, but girls are too. And when people get mean to me, I fight back, not join some hate club and run away from them like cowards to live in the wild so you won't encounter them."

In actuality, Clarisse did not say just this. She went on to say several more things, most of which would most certainly get her blasted from here to the old Mount Olympus. In the end, there _was_ a fight, and as was expected, Zoë won. The Hunter left fuming, leaving Clarisse lying in the dirt with sores all over her body and a mild concussion.

An Apollo camper found her when she came to the range for practice, and she ran back to drag one of her other siblings out to help her. When Clarisse's health had been moderately restored, they transferred her to the infirmary and notified Chiron.

The Ares cabin roared and clamored for blood, but by then the Hunters were already long gone, off on another adventure after they had made sure their mortally wounded members were healed up and ready to be moving again. It was regretful that Chiron couldn't appreciate the wonders of gladiatorial fights or revenge, Clarisse thought. Else they would have had a delightfully bloody battle on their hands.

She didn't stay in the infirmary for long, claiming that it was too stuffy and that the best way for her to recover was to stuff brats' heads into toilets. The Apollo punks could say whatever they want; she was out of there on the second day's morning.

It was by pure coincidence that she ran into Chris Rodriguez on her morning tour, practicing his sword fighting. Clarisse immediately disarmed him with her spear, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up until she was in his face.

"You'd better be worth the bruises," she snapped, then dropped him into the dirt and gave him a light shock before stalking away.

Ares children only knew tough love because they were raised to be tough. If somebody couldn't stand their harshness, they were losers and unworthy of their time.

But Chris would prevail. If not, Clarisse will be there to make him feel sorry that he didn't.

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><p><em>Written on a whim. Clarisse had always been a bit of a fascinating character to me, and this is a result of that. Reviews would be most welcome, dear readers.<em>

_PS: Clarisse la Rue is not the author's mouthpiece, nor does she reflect his/her beliefs or faiths or the way he/she sees things. The Hunters are not a bunch of cowards. They simply picked a different, mostly nonviolent way around their problems. _


End file.
